Cross My Heart
by Melody Harper
Summary: Once upon a time Hotch made a promise. Rossi intends to make him keep it.
1. Promise

"Come out with me tonight, Aaron."

The Unit Chief of the BAU gave a long-suffering sigh. He knew this bird-dance well. "No, thanks, Dave. I've got other stuff I need to take care of."

"Like what?"

"Just stuff."

David Rossi braced himself, taking up a stance blocking the doorway of Aaron Hotchner's office, arms crossed, chin up. "Convince me."

Like a marionette whose strings had loosened, Hotch's head dropped, his shoulders slumping in aggravated concession. He paused just long enough to be sure his best friend got the point: _I hate this game. This is the last time…again…_ "Okay. Fine. I have to do the laundry and I promised Jack I'd help him with his homework…"

"It's Friday night." Rossi interrupted. "Your kid doesn't have school for two days. Homework can wait. So can laundry."

"I have to make dinner and the apartment could use a cleaning…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Like Jack won't be happy raiding the fridge, or ordering a pizza on his own, or hanging out with his aunt. And since when did it become _de rigueur_ for two bachelors to care about dusting and vacuuming?"

Hotch continued packing his briefcase. "We are not two bachelors. We are a father and son. And that involves responsibility." He gave Rossi a mournful glance. "I have to set an example, Dave. I have to keep things organized and, well…home-like…as best I can." His voice softened. "Please don't make it any harder than it is."

"But that's my whole point!" The older man moved closer, voice descending with an urgent desire to be understood. "Jack needs to know that life isn't all duty and drudgery. He needs to see you enjoying yourself, Aaron. It's far more important than a clean apartment and folded laundry."

Hotch continued fussing with files until Rossi grabbed his wrist, putting a stop to the briefcase being the focal point of his attention. "Listen to me, Aaron. I'm serious." Dave was encouraged when the younger man didn't try to extract himself from his friend's grip. "Aaron…"

The Unit Chief looked up, meeting the earnest expression in his best friend's eyes. For his part, Rossi wasn't looking forward to this discussion he felt was necessary. But the words had to be said; had to be voiced so they could linger in the mind of this man who was so damnably good at avoidance of personal issues.

"Aaron…," he began again, "…you made a promise. A _promise_ , Aaron…"

Hotch's lids drifted down, trying to shut out the memory…the awful recall scorched so deeply into him that it still glowed like an infernal brand. _Promise me, Aaron…promise…_ And then, the gunshots that tore through her, and the lives of her son and ex-husband, and changed the world forever.

His voice was thick with pain. "I tried, Dave. I did. You know I did."

"You promised you'd show Jack what love was. He watches you, Aaron. Haley was right: you need to set an example for him of how to find love…not how to clean an apartment or broil a chicken breast. You promised."

Eyes downcast, Hotch tried to defend himself. "I _tried_! Beth and I were together just long enough for Jack to begin to feel ties to her. You know what it did to him when I told him she was gone? That she didn't want to be part of us anymore?" His voice cracked. "I can't put him through that again, Dave. I didn't show him about love. I tried, but all I taught him was that people keep leaving. All I did was demonstrate how his Dad can't make things work."

"What?!" Rossi was genuinely shocked. "Is that what's been going on in there?" He tapped two fingers against the younger man's forehead…and none too gently. When no answer was forthcoming, his Italian temper began to fray. "Alright. That's it. You're coming with me. Not to meet women. Not to enjoy yourself. You're going to sit down, and sit still, and shut up, and _listen_. Get moving."

Dave gripped Hotch's upper arm, propelling him through the door, along the catwalk, and into the elevators. In fact, he didn't let go until he'd shoved the Unit Chief into the passenger seat of his BMW.

But by then, Aaron was beginning to recover from his surprise at the rough treatment. "I need to get home so Jack…"

"You need to take a step back and remember your priorities. Don't make me angry, Aaron. You won't like me angry."

"Dave! You have no right to…"

"I have _every_ right! You made a promise. Yes, you tried to honor it, and it didn't work out. But I'm not going to let you give up. Aaron…" Rossi's voice softened as he glanced at the man beside him. "…if you stop trying, you'll regret it in a few years, and it'll be too late to pick up the pieces. Jack will have moved past the point where the example you set form the building blocks of his life. What you do now will have a large part in determining you son's attitudes and expectations when it comes to courtship and romantic love. Please, Aaron…don't let him end up a lonely guy like me. And don't you become one either."

Hotch felt as though a hand were squeezing his heart.

A hand just about the size of his son's.


	2. Emotional Language

It wasn't the usual kind of bar Rossi favored.

There wasn't a lot of foot traffic. There weren't numerous, nubile creatures of the feminine persuasion wending their way through the crowd, putting their charms on display with knowing smiles. In short, it wasn't a pickup bar.

Or a jazz bar.

Or a sports bar.

It was the kind of bar where people came to talk. In private. With quiet intensity. A place where serious concerns were broached. A place where deals were made and business conducted. The subdued atmosphere discouraged overt, emotional displays, making it a place for staged break-ups rather than spontaneous hook-ups.

Hotch had been mollified on the drive over by Rossi's genuine concern and the images his words had inspired. Jack was beginning to show traits of the man he would someday be. Small gestures and mannerisms were surfacing. He was copying them from his father, which filled Hotch with such a powerful, paternal love it stole his breath away.

Hotch knew that loving like that, to the height and depth and breadth of your soul, meant that it was a sure bet someday your soul would crack clear through, trailing tears, and blood, and the ichor of broken dreams through the rest of your life.

But there was no defense against it.

He couldn't lessen the ferocity of his love for his son to save himself. It was the one thing he understood perfectly about Haley's death. In her shoes, he would have done the same. He cursed fate, nursing hidden anger, that she'd been put in that position at all, but…yes…he understood accepting death if it meant Jack would have even the slightest chance of survival.

Aaron wouldn't admit it yet, but Rossi's warning that Jack would use his father as a blueprint for romantic relationships had jarred him. He was so used to his loneliness that he was comfortable with it. It was safe and familiar and uncomplicated to be alone. And, yes, he knew that children copied parents. As a profiler, he'd seen the patterns of abuse perpetuated from generation to generation like a twisted, behavioral version of genetic code.

He'd just never applied that knowledge to his own situation when it came to lifestyle choices. Abuse _was_ on his mind, something he was wary of; he didn't want to turn into his own father. He was convinced that standing constant vigil against it was sufficient to protect Jack. But that loneliness thing had slipped right past him. Sneaky and slithery. And really, really scary.

Hotch hung his head as Rossi guided him to a table in a secluded corner.

 _I was always promising Haley I'd make things up to her. I hardly ever did. When did it become so easy to keep breaking promises and to shore the broken ones up with new, more extravagant ones? That's not how it's supposed to work. How can I teach Jack when I'm doing it all wrong myself?_ Then, a secret part of him whispered, _Maybe being alone is better, if you're a Hotchner._

His dismal train of thought showed on his face as Rossi pushed him into a chair against the wall, adjusting the table's position to effectively fence the Unit Chief in, trapping him. _No escape…_

Dave gave his friend's hangdog expression a narrow look. "Alright, Aaron. Tell me what's going on with you or I'll order you one of those fruity drinks with a pink umbrella in it. And I don't care how discreet this place is…there _will_ be talk about the suit in the corner with the girly-drink. I'll start it myself, if I have to."

When Hotch didn't respond fast enough, Rossi raised a hand, signaling a waiter. The uniformed, young man approached, professional smile in place.

"May I take your order, sir?"

"Scotch for me; on the rocks. And for my friend…"

"Same." Aaron interjected just in time, visions of dreadful, tropical monstrosities served inside whole, hollowed-out pineapples dancing through his mind's eye. "I'll have the same. Thanks."

"Very good, sir." The waiter glanced from one agent to the other, unsure who was 'in charge.' "Would you like anything from the kitchen?"

This establishment was known for its snacks and appetizers as much as for its quiet aura. Hotch raised his nose, sniffing the aromas he'd only just noticed. Before he could speak, Rossi dismissed the waiter. "No thanks. We're good. For now."

Once they were alone, Aaron raised his brows at his companion; usually Dave pushed him to eat.

"We can have something after we've talked." Rossi leaned back in his chair, regarding Hotch from between half-closed lids.

His strategy wasn't lost on the younger man. _He's counting on alcohol and an empty stomach to make me either more forthcoming, or more receptive. Or both._ Hotch sighed. "At least a girly-drink would have had fruit in it or something…"

Silence reigned until the waiter returned with their drinks. Once they'd imbibed a few sips, the conversation began in earnest.

"Aaron, I meant what I said on the way over here. The choices you make now affect both you and Jack, and not just in the here and now. You know the psychology, even if you haven't lived it yet. The patterns are set and you usually don't become aware of them until late-middle age. That's when you suddenly see the path you've been traveling with terrible, awful clarity."

Hotch was quiet, contemplating the deep gold liquid in his glass. His solemn look reassured the older man that his words were being taken into careful consideration.

"When you get a little older, Aaron, you'll see the reasons for…oh, I dunno…certain prejudices, preferences, reactions under stress. It'll be a humbling experience. You'll see yourself as having a lot less choice; as being the product of a process whose genesis is finally apparent. The sad part is, you might not be able to make any changes at that point. It's too scary…or you'll tell yourself you're too set in your ways.

"And most people blame their parents. 'I could have been such and such or so and so, if I hadn't been raised thus and so.' The hard part is when you realize it wasn't conscious instruction that your parents handed down to you. It was example. They may even have said to you at some point, 'Don't be like me…' But it's too late. It's like learning your native language. No one instructs you. You just pick it up and run with it for the rest of your whole, damn life."

Rossi leaned in. Hotch's eyes flicked up, making contact.

"Aaron, you're teaching your son to be alone and quiet and to keep everything inside. You're teaching him to be a wonderful man who'll share everything but himself…

"…You're teaching your son the emotional equivalent of a dead language, Aaron…"


	3. The Deal

Hotch chewed on his lip.

And took a sip. And closed his eyes, reaching deep inside for insight enough to argue with Rossi's harsh judgment.

"That's not entirely fair, or true, Dave. I told you how hard it was for Jack when Beth left. I have to protect him. That's the most important thi..." But before he could finish, Hotch's stomach dropped. He felt a chilly hand brush his shoulder; misty words ghosting past his ear in spectral tandem with his own.

 _Promise me, Aaron…Love…it's the most important thing…the most_ _ **important**_ _thing…promise me…_

The words caught in his throat; a sudden lump blocking their passage.

Rossi's eyes never left his companion's. He tasted his drink, watching the Unit Chief over the rim of his glass, heart breaking only a little after all the intervening years between now and the time the entire team had listened as a doomed woman laid a debt on the father of her child.

Hotch wasn't the only one to hear her in his dreams. Haley haunted others.

But Hotch was the one who felt his eyes fill now.

"What am I supposed to do, Dave? It's a balance between performing some kind of demonstration to show Jack how to date and bring a woman into our world, and then keeping his heart from breaking when things don't go right and they leave." He dropped his gaze to his own lap. "And with me, things go wrong more likely than not. How am I supposed to protect him _and_ show him the good side of relationships when I can't make them happen?" His voice dropped to a sad, private tone. "Sometimes I think it's all more trouble than it's worth…"

Rossi's gusty sigh made Aaron look up. "For a tough guy, you have a really thin skin. Especially when it comes to women. Especially around your own heart. I'm willing to bet that's the one that's breaking; not Jack's."

There was a desperate look about Hotch that made the older man think he'd struck a nerve.

"That's it, isn't it…" Dave tilted his head to one side, concern furrowing his brow. "I'm not saying these things to hurt you, Aaron. I want to help, and I'm hoping you'll let me. I've got a few years on you, but I've also got a hell of a lot more experience when it comes to making room in your life for a female." He ducked his head in acknowledgment of his own romantic history. "I'll admit I'm lacking when it comes to long-term success, but I do know how to get out there and play the game. I even know how to enjoy it. So…?"

Hotch blinked. "So…what?" He had a sinking feeling he knew 'what,' but wanted to stave it off. Even a few more seconds' grace would be appreciated. But, no…here it came…

"So how about you come out with me once a week…" Aaron's brows shot up, eyes rimmed with far too much white. "Okay…okay…" Rossi raised his hands, palms outward in a gesture intended to ward off panic. "How about _twice_ a _month_ , you make an effort to come with me?" Hotch still looked like a cornered thing.

Dave considered for a moment as he sipped at his Scotch. He thought he saw a way around the problem. Hotch was extremely goal-oriented. It was part of what gave him such drive and focus on the job. He didn't know how to go at things from an oblique angle…from a _fun_ angle. But, in addition, one of Aaron's prime triggers was if someone asked him for help. Make the Unit Chief feel needed and he was a fierce and friendly force.

 _Gotcha!_ thought Rossi. "Look, I'll level with you. I'm being a little selfish here." The white surrounding Hotch's eyes diminished ever so slightly. "I have an ulterior motive: I need a wingman a lot of times. I _did_ mean everything I said about your needing to get out and meet someone, but it'd be nice sometimes to have a friend along…" Dave's eyes drooped with his best 'pity me' look. "…you know…so I wouldn't look like a sad, old man who has to drink alone."

Hotch's eyes narrowed, the white rim disappearing, replaced by the glint of suspicion. All through college and law school, Aaron had been the last guy anyone wanted as a wingman. It hadn't mattered, because his heart had already been claimed and chained by Haley, but one night when his roommate had returned with an alcohol-loosened tongue, Hotch had learned why.

"No one wants to troll for girls with you, Hotchner! We mortals wouldn't stand a chance. At least, that's what Mindy Cantwell told me." The roommate's gaze had gone blearily lustful at the mention of the current Sweetheart of Sigma Chi. "Yeah…Mindy says they're all waiting for you to get out there some night so they can see who you'll go for. How…" A boozy burp interrupted, but only for a moment. "…how'd she put it?...oh, yeah!...The notice a man gets is proportionate to his height and the…the size of his feet!" Roomie dissolved into drunken giggles. "Who'da thought girls talk like _that_ , man!? And…and…she said they wanna see if all the old wives' tales are true about big feet!"

That was all that was revealed before the roommate drifted off into a sodden sleep, but it was enough to embarrass young Aaron Hotchner and make him thank his lucky stars that he already had the girl he'd marry. Hunting among the likes of Mindy Cantwell would never be necessary.

Now, the Unit Chief sighed. _Never say 'never'…_ "I dunno, Dave. I'm not really comfortable…"

"Don't think of it as hunting, Aaron!" Impatience edged the older man's voice. "Think of it as going out with your friend for a drink. We'll relax…and talk… and if some nubile, young thing happens to show an interest…"

"Then you'll abandon me to my fate?"

Rossi downed the last of his drink and grinned. "Only if I'm the one she wants." He gave Hotch a sidelong look. "Deal? Twice a month?"

All humor drained from Aaron's expression. "I don't want to do this."

"But you will. Because you're a good father and it'll be important for Jack to know his Daddy's out on the town. Man does not live by work alone, Aaron," Rossi intoned. "Speaking of which…" He signaled the waiter. "Now that we've got that settled, let's get some chow."

Hotch's stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since breakfast.

Even an umbrella-infested, fruit-bearing, girly drink would have been welcome.


	4. Fossilized Brains and Moonstones

Rossi let nearly two weeks pass before invoking The Deal.

He thought the interval would either allow Hotch to get used to the idea, or it would dull the edge of apprehension the man had shown at the very idea of stepping out into a social milieu. Aaron saw it from the opposite end of the spectrum: maybe Dave would forget, or maybe Dave would become involved with someone on his own and devote his free time to her rather than to pushing his best friend out of his comfortable, familiar, lonely nest.

But a Thursday night found the team in a lull as far as casework was concerned. Recognizing the opportunity, Rossi pounced.

He lounged in the doorway of the Unit Chief's office, scanning his sharp suit and manful try at taming cowlicks…and decided the look would work as long as he chose a destination that wasn't on the level of a biker bar.

Hotch felt he was being observed. He glanced up…and was immediately nervous at the mischievous tilt to the older man's lips. "What?"

"It's time, Aaron."

Hotch knew what was being referenced. "But…it's the middle of the week. I thought this was going to be a weekend thing."

Rossi shook his head, lips pressing into a determined line. "By tomorrow a case could come in. You know how this job is: you grab your free time when you can."

"Jack's expecting me to be around this evening." Hotch ducked his head, shuffling papers and mumbling to himself. "It'd be nice to have a little warning…" His head shot up when he heard Dave making a phone call.

Rossi's eyes were riveted on his boss as the connection went through. "Hey, Jack! It's your Uncle Dave. Your Dad's here. Wants to let you know he'll be out this evening." He began to hand his phone off to Hotch, but aborted the movement when the boy began to talk. A satisfied smirk began to appear. "I'm sure that'll be alright, kid. But ask your father. He's right here."

Aaron took the cell, suspicion beginning to surface. "Hey, Buddy…what was that about?" His glare locked on Rossi. "No, that's fine. But…are you _sure_ you don't need me at home? 'Cause I can be there." He ignored Dave's shaking head. "Well…okay then. Be good. Mind your manners, and I'll see you later. Love you…"

Hotch handed the phone back to its rightful owner, regarding said owner out of the side of his eye the entire time. "Well. That was interesting." Rossi pocketed his cell, looking smug. The Unit Chief subjected his best friend to professional profiler scrutiny. "Funny how Jack just happens to have plans with his aunt. He usually doesn't do that. Not on his own."

Dave shrugged, the smirk never leaving his face. "Maybe he's tired of hanging around the apartment with his Dad. _All_ boys need to mix it up every now and then." The last was said with enough stress to let Hotch know it had a double meaning.

"I don't like you running plays behind my back; not when it comes to Jack."

Rossi looked affronted. "I did no such thing, Aaron."

"You talked to him about getting me to go out, didn't you?"

"Absolutely not." The older man's grin was infuriating as Hotch ratcheted his brows down into a glare. " _Jessica_ ran a play behind your back. I hardly did anything at all…" One shoulder lifted and fell, taunting. "…except, you know, set up a code so I could text her when I thought the time was right. She took it from there. I didn't coerce Jack into anything." The grin passed infuriating and attained outrageous. "My job is coercing Jack's father."

Hotch maintained his stoic pose. Rossi relented, adopting a more congenial expression. "C'mon, Aaron. We had a deal. And you have a promise to keep. This is a first step; a good one. Even this little bit reached your son and told him that it's okay to venture outside the box… C'mon."

A deep, long-suffering sigh managed to convey what the Unit Chief thought of the whole setup.

But a deal was a deal…akin to a promise, really.

And although Hotch broke some, he did try to honor as many as he could. No matter how distasteful he found them.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Just try to relax, Aaron. I'm not putting you before a firing squad…Jeeeez…"

Rossi had found an establishment he felt was an appropriate starter's locale. It would ease his shy friend into the idea of going out. It was a baby step. At least, in Dave's estimation.

Hotch, however, was surfing a wave of tension as soon as they stepped through the door of Hot Spot, an upper-crust watering hole that wasn't solely devoted to hook-ups, but where they frequently happened nonetheless.

The Unit Chief had balked when the name, scripted in deep, red neon, had loomed before them. His eyes had widened, but before he could object or question, Rossi's firm hand in the small of his back had pushed Hotch into the tavern. By the time his startled eyes adjusted to the sporadically lit interior, Dave had maneuvered them to a table.

It was centrally situated. Aaron would have preferred something against the wall.

"Sit down, and pay attention to lesson _numero uno_ , my friend." Rossi took his own seat, gazing about with a happy, expectant air wholly at odds with the deer-in-the-headlights look of his companion. "Always select a table that provides visibility, Aaron. But also make sure it's not too close to the bar or any doorways. You want to be able to carry on a conversation without straining to hear or to make yourself heard." He gave Hotch a sage look. "You don't want to find yourself in that hell where you both resort to nodding and smiling without any idea of what the other said."

"Dave, you said we weren't going on the hunt…and I'm not! I thought we were just going to relax and if anything happened, well…we'd wing it, I guess."

The older man heard incipient panic in the younger's voice, and moved nimbly to head it off. "Calm down. I'm just offering advice you might find useful someday…when you're ready…" Rossi had been scanning the clientele since they'd entered out of long habit. "…and maybe someday is today," he finished _sotto voce_ , raising his brows at Hotch and inclining his head slightly to the right.

Aaron had the feeling he'd bought a ticket to a roller coaster when he'd meant to go on the kiddies merry-go-round. Everything was moving much too quickly.

As was the figure wending its way toward them.

He had time for the impression of curves in dark olive, silver stilettos, and lots of jewelry he recognized as moonstones. A giddy corner of his mind thought that he'd have to thank Garcia for having educated him about them.

And then she was there, looking down at him.

"Hi." Her voice was husky.

Rossi smiled a greeting, but waited to see how the baby chick under his wing would respond.

The social/dating/courtship part of Hotch's brain felt fossilized. _Say something! A compliment! Start with a compliment! You can't go wrong with a compliment!_

He meant to say that her moonstone necklace was nice. But he choked and tripped over his own tongue, just the way he had when he'd first talked to Haley. Just the way he _would_ have if Beth hadn't taken all the initiative away from him and engineered their 'chance' meeting.

"Stone…stoned…nice…" Then Aaron had the good sense to stop.

Rossi stared. _Did he just tell her he's stoned? What the…?_

The woman in olive and moonstones answered. "Cool. Me, too."

Dave didn't blame Hotch in the least when he bolted, muttering something about the men's room. At least it had been intelligible.

That was progress, he supposed.


	5. Narrow Escape

"Is your friend okay?"

The Olive Moonstone tracked Hotch as he hot-footed it toward a far corner where he hoped restrooms were located.

"Yeah, he's just a little nervous about meeting new people, ya know?" Rossi watched her eyes following his friend and let his own rove over the slender length of this woman who was clearly interested in making Aaron's acquaintance.

She turned her almond-shaped gaze on the older man, offering a gentle smile that revealed dazzlingly white teeth. "Ahhhh…okay. His first time out?"

Dave nodded. "I'm trying to ease him back into the dating scene. He's a little shy; a little sheltered."

"So he's available? You two aren't…?" Moonstone gave her head a suggestive tilt.

Dave was still taking an appreciative inventory of the lady's charms. It took a moment for her words to register. When they did, his welcoming smile did an abrupt nosedive. "What? We… _What_?!"

She leaned down, sultry-toned voice keeping things private. "You two aren't together? I wasn't sure, but…" She shrugged a toned shoulder. "…you never know, right?" Her grin adopted a wicked edge. "You don't ask…you don't get. Am I right?"

Rossi gaped, but recovered quickly. He'd seen his share of cross-dressers, but this one had slipped right past his radar. And he was sure Hotch had no idea that Moonstone was male. Unfortunately, his speech center was still reeling at the revelation. "I…we…uh…he…"

Meanwhile, Dave was chastising himself mentally. _Some profiler! The height! The shoulders! The size of the hands, for Chrissake! Think if you had pushed Aaron to go with her! He'd never forgive you! And he'd never come out again!_

"Oh, dear." Moonstone's elegant features took on a shuttered quality; open amiability swapped out for chagrin. "Did I misread things?"

Rossi nodded and found his tongue at last. "You have. We're not a couple, nor have we ever been. And he's a widower with a young son. So…"

S/he sighed. "Well…I apologize. But no harm done, right?" Although Moonstone wasn't sure. The delectable suit hadn't reappeared as yet. S/he accorded Dave a courteous nod and willowed her way back into the tavern's shadowy depths.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Hotch returned to the table to find Rossi leaning his brow into one palm and muttering to himself. The Unit Chief was sure it was because of his impromptu flight.

"Dave, I'm sorry. I just…I didn't…" He hung his head, feeling completely unworthy of his friend's good intentions. "It happened too fast. I wasn't ready. I know that sounds stupid, but…but…" Hotch glanced around, peering into the dim corners where predators might yet be lurking. "…but she just looked so damn _hungry_!"

"It's okay, Aaron. She's gone. Won't be bothering you again." Rossi looked up at his unhappy teammate. _He looks skittish. I better not tell him what really happened here._ "I think she got the point that she was pushing an agenda you weren't interested in." He swallowed a large portion of his drink and borrowed a page from Moonstone's philosophy. "But if you don't ask, you don't get, right? So…no harm done."

Hotch nodded, sat and breathed a sigh of relief. _He gets it. He's not mad at me._ That and a gulp of Scotch gave him the courage to pursue the matter of date-world re-entry. "Dave, I don't think I'm ready for this. It's too soon."

Rossi endured an internal cringe. _**I**_ _did this to him. Gotta turn it around. Put a spin on it that'll encourage rather than terrify._ "This was not how I intended the evening to go, Aaron. I honestly expected we would just sit and talk and you'd get used to the idea of being out. Not a player, just a spectator." His grin returned. "But look on the bright side. You attracted attention. Someone wanted to make contact. If you have any doubts about your chances of success once you _are_ ready to play the game, you can set them aside. Now you know you won't be a wallflower. You have proof otherwise." An approaching figure caught his attention. " _Ample_ proof…" Rossi took a deep breath. "Heads up, Aaron…"

Hotch didn't look around. He focused directly on Rossi and lifted his glass to his lips in a mechanical way. That and the man's fixed, vacant eyes reminded Dave of a rabbit he'd caught as a boy.

The creature had been cornered on a freeway median; no way out. The knowledge of its own fate radiated from every furry inch of it. Sheer terror and an awful acceptance of that terror. Rossi had scooped it up and transported it across three lanes, back to the wooded landscape. When it realized it had been rescued and would live to hop another day, the rabbit had remained frozen in place. Unable to leave it in a vulnerable position, young Dave had picked it up again and brought it to the edge of a monumental tangle of blackberry canes. Finally, the little animal had come to its senses and scampered away.

Hotch had the same look.

 _He'll never come with me again, deal or no deal…_ Rossi was scrutinizing everything about the oncoming woman to be sure that this time it _was_ one. Just as he decided that she was legit, she drew abreast of the agents' table.

With a toss of her hair and a sensual half-smile, she kept walking past them, managing to make eye contact with Dave, since Hotch had gone fixed and glassy.

"What a handsome couple of men," she murmured, continuing on her way with a sultry purr.

Rossi grinned.

Aaron was blinking, grasping that not everyone was an overt hunter. Also grasping that he'd just been complimented. He watched the woman fade into the shadows. She'd been a pretty brunette in a red sweater and black jeans. His eyes connected with Dave's. A slow, tentative smile trembled its way onto the Unit Chief's lips.

Rossi kicked back, with the air of a sultan. "And _that_ , my friend, is how it's done…"


	6. Buffer

The evening concluded without further incident.

Rossi was pleased with what _had_ been accomplished. After the initial gaff of the Olive Moonstone, no less than five attractive women had performed hit-and-run maneuvers, scattering compliments much as the first brunette had.

Dave was grateful that two had been directed at him. The other three had made their choice known by either appreciative looks or, in one instance that almost startled Hotch out of his seat, a light, caressing hand trailing over the younger man's shoulder in passing.

Physical contact was a bold move, but in Rossi's lexicon, an acceptable one when performed by a beautifully manicured hand devoid of engagement or wedding rings. And he liked the way Aaron shivered in its wake.

Closing in on the eleven o'clock hour, the agents acknowledged that they had to be at work the next day. Hotch was usually first in and last out at the office. He could tell Rossi was hoping to change that routine.

"I need to get home, Dave. Jessica's waiting and she has things of her own to do tomorrow. And I need to be up in time to get Jack's breakfast ready."

Rossi sighed. "That's gonna be your excuse until the kid is 18, isn't it? He's 10. He knows how to make oatmeal and pour a glass of orange juice."

"He's 10. He needs to feel his father's taking care of him."

"Okay…okay…" It was hard to fight it when Hotch played the daddy-card. "But one of these days you're going to be the last one in to work. And you'll yawn and look a little disheveled. And you'll have a smile that the team will find infectious." Dave leaned in as they gathered coats and settled bills. "Just so you know…that's a personal goal of mine."

Sighing, the Unit Chief shook his head. It was hard for him to equate Rossi's level of professional expertise and accomplishments with his off-duty, subversive, party-animal attitude.

But the older man _did_ have a point. Hotch felt unaccountably lighter in spirit as they adjourned for the evening.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rossi decided one good thing about Aaron being so focused, so job-oriented, was that by the time two weeks had passed, he seemed to have forgotten that dipping his toes into the dating pool would be an ongoing endeavor.

Or maybe it was that when the two week mark came and went without Dave proposing another outing, the Unit Chief thought he was off the hook. But on a Friday, when they'd returned from a difficult case that had involved trekking through the humid everglades of Florida, Rossi cornered Hotch in his office yet again.

The younger man looked up, catching the sly smile of his teammate. "Oh. No, Dave. No. We're all tired. And I haven't seen Jack for three days. And I need a shower. And…"

"And you'll keep throwing excuses at me in a futile effort to dodge a commitment you made to me; a commitment that is ultimately for the good of your son."

Hotch straightened from where he'd been pulling soiled clothing out of his go-bag. "Look at me. I'm not good company for anyone tonight. Except Jack."

Rossi crossed his arms, nodding, yet looking like a jackal about to pick off the lame straggler in a herd of tasty antelope. "I'm not gonna pull any punches with you, Aaron. I've known you too long for that kind of pussyfooting. Yes, we just came off a case that exhausted us and got us grimed and sweaty. But it also left us depressed. Especially you. The ones where children die always hit you hardest."

Hotch's eyes closed, but not before Dave caught the shimmer in them rising like a tide. Tears didn't fall. The Unit Chief had let them do so hidden in the lavatory on the jet during the flight home, trusting that anyone who suspected would have the grace to keep silent.

"That's why I want to go home and see Jack. Now. Right now. I need him." The low baritone faltered.

"I know that." Rossi's voice softened in sympathy, acknowledging the longing he heard in this man who always felt the need to guard his heart, to keep others from seeing his vulnerability. "You're upset. Even if you submerge all that angst, your son will know. Kids sense things, Aaron. Do him a favor and don't bring him a Daddy he needs to worry about, because you can't explain why you feel the way you do. Because you can't tell him about the monsters you hunt." He stepped closer; close enough to place a comforting hand on a trembling shoulder. "He already knows too much about monsters."

Hotch knew the reference. Haley. Foyet. A little boy hiding in a chest and hearing the sounds of battle. Emerging to find he was motherless. And Daddy was bloody. And Daddy said he was fine when clearly he wasn't. Jack had known even back then that Daddy hid things.

A small whine of anguish worked its way up into Hotch's throat.

"Aaron, you can shower downstairs in the gym. You still have some stuff you can wear that doesn't reek of swamp water. We'll go out for a couple hours. You can call Jack first and tell him you have to finish some things, but you're safe and you'll be home soon." Rossi felt some of the tension bleed out of the shoulder beneath his palm.

"By the time you get home, you'll have shaken off some of this case. You'll be calmer. You need that buffer between your job and going home. At least, this time out you do."

The Unit Chief continued to stand, neck bent, head down. His stomach was jumping. If he was honest with himself, he'd have to admit every nerve in his body was zinging, thrumming with the aftermath of being called in to stop a child-killer.

With slow deliberation, he pulled out his phone. Rossi rubbed the nape of Hotch's neck, using every opportunity to drain off emotional turmoil.

"Hey, Buddy. How's it going?...Yeah, I'm back. Still have some loose ends to tie up, but I'll be home in a couple hours…" Aaron's mouth twitched, but fell short of a smile. "How 'bout we do something tomorrow?...Give it some thought. Whatever you want…maybeeeee your first paintball?" Even Rossi could hear the shout of enthusiastic joy that erupted on the other end of the line. "Okay then. That's it. See ya soon…Love you, Buddy…Bye."

Hotch's mouth twitched again. And again. Dave frowned. It was more like a prelude to a grimace than anything to do with joy.

"Aaron?"

The Unit Chief gave his best friend a sidelong look of pure misery. At last, his lips quivered, turning down at the corners, eyes pooling. Rossi nodded. He understood. _He's thinking of the parents…the father in Florida who'll never play with his son again…_ "Let's go get changed and get out of here…"

With a deep, shuddering breath, Hotch got himself under control…and nodded. Picking up his go-bag, he followed his friend.

For Jack's sake more than his own.


	7. By Any Other Name

To Rossi's credit, he really hadn't intended to push the dating agenda that evening.

He wanted Hotch to relax and to vent some of the deep-seated pain he could sense had gathered in the man's soul. Knowing how the Unit Chief pulled in on himself when things were difficult, never asking for help, never wanting to inflict himself on others, Dave would have settled for a couple hours of quiet camaraderie. Minimum talk. Maximum booze.

However, when Hotch emerged from the Bureau locker room after showering, wearing a tee-shirt and jeans, the casual look made the older man think of a place to take him that might prove therapeutic both emotionally and socially.

"C'mon, Aaron. I know this little bar…"

"Really not in the mood for pickups, Dave. Really."

"You wound me, my friend. It's just a bar. A nice, friendly, neighborhood bar with a mostly quiet, mostly law-abiding clientele. The barkeep wouldn't have it any other way."

Hotch gave him a searching look. " _Really_ not in the mood…"

"Which is why this'll be perfect. Nothing fancy. Comfortable. TV over the bar. Pretty quiet unless there's a game on and guys are shouting, but even that the bartender…who's the owner, by the way…keeps under control. Place is called Kelly's. She'll do you good."

Later, Hotch didn't know why he didn't question the feminine pronoun. He supposed he might have been thinking that Rossi was assigning gender to an inanimate object, like ships and cars.

Or he might have been too tired and still too distracted by the particulars of their last case to notice.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kelly's was all Dave had claimed. Homey and warm and boisterous only up to a point. The owner and barkeep ruled with quiet authority, pouring drinks, trading _bon mots_ , and fending off advances.

Kelly was a very curvaceous, very capable-looking redhead. When she saw Rossi, she flashed him a smile and, without asking, performed rapid choreography acquired from long practice, assembling a Scotch and rocks and placing it on the polished bar.

Rossi took a seat, motioning for Hotch to do the same. The Unit Chief gave his companion a sidelong look. "You're a regular here?"

"Regular- _ish_."

"Enough to make an impression, obviously."

"Well…" Dave hitched his shoulders back, puffing out his chest and raising his chin in affirmation of his natural impression-making abilities.

After a moment of speaking to patrons at the opposite end of the bar, the owner returned to the newcomers. "Hi, Dave."

"Aaron, I'd like to present Ms. Kelly." Rossi leaned his elbows on the polished surface and confided, "Aaron and I work together. He's Irish…just like me."

As the woman's laughter rang out, Hotch hastened to set the record straight. "I'm…I'm not." He sounded apologetic. "My last name's Hotchner."

"Well, mine's Abdul, so you can't really tell by names, now can you?"

"Ab…uh…I thought it was Kelly." The Unit Chief was slow on the uptake; an effect of having been states away and up to his armpits in horror and swamp-slime for the past few days. It felt surreal to be here. And the name thing was throwing him off. He had a feeling Rossi was enjoying it.

"Kelly's my first name. Kelly Abdul." She leaned close to the two agents. "But naming a bar Abdul's wouldn't have fostered the kind of atmosphere I wanted…you know?" She pulled back, amused at the serious expression on the younger man's face. "My stepfather was of Arabic descent. So…a coupla Irishmen named Rossi and Hotchner?" She nodded. "Yep. Sounds about right."

At last Aaron smiled. "Could I have a beer, please? Whatever's on tap?"

Kelly set a frosty mug before her new customer in short order, but not before she gave Dave a significant look. Hotch could have sworn a signal passed between the two. Before he could question it, shouts for 'more' from the opposite end of the bar took the woman away again. Once she was out of earshot, Hotch gave his friend a dark glance.

"Please tell me you're not trying to set me up?"

Rossi adopted an injured air. "No! Not at all." Skepticism still lingered in the younger man's expression. "She's a nice lady. And she's a bartender, Aaron. They're known for being good listeners." He shrugged. "I thought if either one of us…or _you_ …felt like talking, and if either one of us…or _you_ …needed some encouragement socializing with the fairer sex, that this would be a nice, non-threatening person and a nice, undemanding place for it to happen."

"Really? That's all?"

A rise in noise level from the people who'd claimed Kelly's attention made both men look toward the disturbance. What seemed to be a trio of frat boys were staring right back. The barkeep leaned down, speaking with intensity from what Rossi and Hotch could see. After a moment, the three customers turned away, lowering their voices and heads.

When Kelly returned, Dave gave her a quizzical look. "What was that about?"

"Just some kids who don't understand the house rules…yet."

Hotch's brow furrowed. Someone in need was like a clarion call to him. "Anything we can do to help?"

The woman gave a throaty chuckle. "You already did."

"Huh?"

"I told them you two are FBI agents. Regulars. And irritable by the end of the day. Too much noise gets on your nerves…makes your fuses short…" She glanced back at the trio. "If you wanna flash your badges, that'd be alright by me."

If need was Hotch's trigger, mischief was Rossi's. The glint in Kelly's eye was irresistible. He dug out his badge and hooked it to his belt. "Excuse me. I need to freshen up."

As the others watched, Dave walked past the group of potential troublemakers. It wasn't his standard walk. Aaron couldn't quite describe it, but it fell somewhere between a saunter and a stalk.

It looked dangerous…challenging.

When he twitched the hem of his jacket back and his badge flashed, catching the light, more than just the target trio noticed. But the noisy boys were quick to look away.

Hotch grinned. Avoiding eye contact was a submissive instinct; one he elicited at will with his glare. He admired Rossi's ability to accomplish the same end with body language.

The whole incident served to distract Aaron. His suspicions and defenses were down when Kelly's voice spoke in a low, private tone.

"So _you're_ the one Dave talks about."

Hotch looked up, unsure how to answer. She picked up on his need for explanation.

"He cares about you very much, you know."

The Unit Chief blinked, but still didn't know how to respond to this virtual stranger. He had a feeling she understood his uncertainty when she shook her head, a small, secret smile glancing across her lips.

"Finish your beer. Second one's on the house for Irishmen named Hotchner."

Aaron took an obedient sip…and decided maybe he _would_ feel better if he talked to this woman. Not about the case, but about things in general.

It was probably why Rossi was taking his own sweet time returning.


	8. Winged Words

Hotch sipped his beer and observed the red-headed bartender.

She made the job look easy, although he knew it wasn't. Her attention was drawn in a multitude of directions, but she managed to stay on track in her conversation with the FBI agent despite interruptions.

"So how did you end up owning a bar?"

Kelly shrugged, never missing a beat as she poured and shook and garnished. "There was a mixology school near where I lived. I was drifting through life between divorces…" She noticed Hotch's raised brow. "…I've got two under my belt. And I'm not looking to beat or even equal your friend Dave's record. Anyway, I didn't have any plans and the people pouring out of the school every evening looked happy. Thought I'd give it a shot."

"And you liked it."

"I do now that I've got my own place. In the beginning, though, for a woman…fuggedaboudit…" Her portrayal of a gangster-ish Brooklyn accent made Aaron smile; something he hadn't thought he'd do much of this evening. The bartender placed drinks on a tray, nodding at a waitress to take it. "So what about you? Becoming an FBI agent can't have been easy. You must have worked hard and wanted it badly."

Ordinarily, Hotch would have accepted her interpretation and merely agreed, uninterested in exploring and explaining his own motivation. It was easier to stay private if you steered conversation away from yourself and toward the other person. But after the horror of this last case, of witnessing too, too closely the loss of young life, something in the Unit Chief wanted to reach out and feel _normal_ , feel like someone who wasn't intimately acquainted with death and terror. For one, brief, disorienting moment, he had an impression of all the unsubs, all the corpses, all the victims standing in a line behind him, holding onto him as he tried to move forward because they were part and parcel of his life. The phantoms weren't pulling him back. But they were keeping contact nonetheless; vague presences in his mind and psyche that let him know he would never be free of them. He glimpsed Haley's face in the crowd…

"You alright?" Kelly jolted Hotch back to the here and now.

"Yeah. Just somewhere else for a minute." He hitched himself a little closer to the bar. "In answer to your question, I wasn't sure what I wanted. No. That's not true." He frowned into his beer. "I knew I wanted to make things right, to fix the things that are wrong and bad and…and…"

"And just plain evil?"

He glanced up in time to catch Kelly's sympathetic smile. It made him wonder exactly what Rossi had said about him. He nodded. "Yes. Just plain evil. But I didn't know how to go about doing that. I had a general idea that it would involve law enforcement. So that's where I started…studying law."

"You're an attorney?"

"Was. _Was_ an attorney."

"And then…?"

"Then a cop. Then SWAT. Then FBI. And that's as far as I've gotten."

The bartender emitted a long, low whistle. "I'd say that's a pretty fair distance along a really rocky road. No wonder Dave's proud of you."

Hotch's spine stiffened, eyes seeking verification in hers. "He is?"

"In a big way." She chuckled as she sliced a lemon with quick, deft strokes. "I used to think you were his kid until he set me straight."

Aaron chewed on his lip for a moment. He glanced around the bar. Rossi was nowhere to be seen. He decided to take a chance. "What did he tell you about me? _If_ it wouldn't be breaking any confidences, that is."

He could tell by Kelly's smile and open expression that the question wasn't forbidden ground. She shook her head at him. "First of all, I would never betray anything anyone told me in private." Her grin widened. "Can you imagine the bad rep I'd get if I told all the secrets and confessions my customers entrusted to me?" The head shake returned. "No way would that be good for business. A barkeep who blabs. Lordy, Lordy."

Hotch was about to apologize for asking when she leaned in close, almost forehead to forehead. "Dave doesn't gossip about you. He worries, though. And people tell bartenders their worries because saying them out loud to someone who's not involved makes them seem lighter. But he doesn't gossip."

Having made a point she considered important, Kelly straightened up and resumed filling small bins of garnishes. "All I know about you is that you get hurt. What worries your friend is that he believes you feel it more deeply than most…and you keep it to yourself a _lot_ more than most." She gave him a shuttered look as she wiped up stray orange zest and maraschino cherry juice. "I think I can see that without anyone telling me. And since Dave unloaded some of the things about his work that bothered _him_ …and you two work together…I don't need to ask what kind of hurts you suffer."

The bartender's eyes tracked across the room. "Your friend's on his way back. I'm gonna set you up with that second beer and I'm going to tell you what I told him." She filled a new stein with frothy gold. "The most important things in life exist without words deep in your heart. That includes the beautiful as well as the awful. Applying words to them is like giving them wings. They can begin to leave the nest."

As Rossi took his seat, Kelly set a small bowl of nuts between the men, keeping her voice low for Hotch's ears. "I know it sounds trite, but talking is a tool. You have to learn to use it. Practice... Now, Dave!" She beamed a grin at the older man. "That was some mighty fine badge-flashing. Thank you. You'll let me pay you for professional services with another?" She raised her brows at the tumbler of now-mostly-ice in his hand.

Rossi subjected Aaron to a searching look. Something about the man seemed easier, less tense. The case wasn't the only thing in his thoughts anymore. The bartender and the senior agent exchanged a look. Dave nodded.

"I won't say no to a refill, but…I think you've already paid me, Ms. Kelly."


	9. Cabaret

Soon after polishing off a second drink, Hotch and Rossi said their goodbyes and set out for home.

Dave slipped behind the wheel with a smug expression. "Told you it wasn't a set up."

Aaron settled into the passenger seat with a contented sigh. "Yes, you did, and it was nice. _She_ was nice. Thanks."

"Did she give you anything you could take with you? Advice-wise?" Rossi glanced at his friend as he pulled away from the curb into the sparse, afterhours traffic.

This time Hotch's sigh was more gusty, reflective of some inner frustration. "Nothing I didn't already know on some level. But knowing and doing are two different things." He slid down in the BMW's comfortable seat. "Still, I feel better. If you wanna hear me say it: you were right. It did me some good. Thanks again."

"Don't mention it." Rossi's smile was a little bit sly, a little bit secretive. "So next time I try to pry you out from behind your desk, don't put up so much resistance. Deal?"

"We already have one deal in play, Dave. I think that's all I can handle. And by the way…" Hotch's voice gained volume, emerging from its contented depths. "…we never did set an end-time on this. We can't go on indefinitely. At least, I can't. So when will this twice-a-month thing end?"

There was a long pause while Rossi gave the matter some consideration.

"It will end when I feel you've reaped as much benefit as you can."

The Unit Chief might have argued if not for the long day, two beers, the surreal juxtaposition of his work against this leisurely interval, and Kelly's advice. As it was, Hotch spent the rest of the ride home contemplating how, if words could release experiences, he didn't want to talk about the evening.

It had been nice.

He wanted it to stay inside him for a while.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"It's that time again, Aaron."

Hotch was standing before the bookcase that lined one wall of his office, back to the door. He knew what Rossi was proposing. He bent his neck, banging his forehead against the wooden shelving in soft protest.

"Why is this always a spur-of-the-moment thing? It'd be nice to have some warning…or maybe we could settle on a regular day of the week at least?"

The snort of derision from the doorway told Hotch his suggestion was dead before it could even draw breath.

"And give you time to come up with excuses? To set up obstacles and smokescreens?" Dave narrowed his eyes, regarding the younger man from the distance of long acquaintance. "Not on your life, my friend. Just remember last time. You enjoyed yourself and you hardly had to work at it at all to feel good."

Hotch cast a forlorn look over his shoulder to where Rossi exhibited the smirking expression that was becoming all too familiar on what Aaron had dubbed 'date night' in his private thoughts. "So can I assume you activated your secret, underground network of operatives? Jessica already took Jack?"

Dave nodded. It was a slow, smug nod. A nod that carried the subtext 'I am a son of Italy, of Machiavelli, Mussolini, and the Mafioso. Someday you will learn to respect that there is no escape.'

Feeling outmaneuvered and outfoxed, Hotch looked down at himself and sighed. "Am I dressed okay?"

"Don't worry. Where we're going, no one'll be looking at your clothes."

Aaron swallowed, feeling like a lamb being led by a wolf to a pack of other wolves.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Hotch was quiet as Rossi drove to their destination.

Aside from his standard call to his son, he said very little. So the older man picked up the conversational thread.

"Aaron, have you ever seen the musical 'Cabaret?'" Dave shot a quick glance at his passenger, trying to gage his response.

Hotch blinked. "I've seen the movie with Liza Minnelli and Joel Grey. Does that count?" He knew Rossi was a connoisseur of many things, including live theatre. But his stomach was jumping; visions of the cinematic Kit Kat Club danced through his mind with all manner of strange and exotic creatures that didn't have a place in the suited, stolid life of the BAU's Unit Chief. Not even when he was relaxing.

Dave shook his head. "Troglodyte. Movies are to theatre, as recordings are to concerts; a bloodless facsimile of that to which they aspire."

Hotch responded by looking scared. He was wondering exactly whose blood would be sacrificed on the altar of live entertainment.

"Aaron…relax." Although driving, Rossi ducked his head in a gesture that expressed sadness for those who didn't share his broad, cultural experiences. "I'm taking you to a club, but it's not as decadent as one you would have encountered in Germany at the outbreak of World War II, okay?"

"I don't understand." Aaron's voice was smaller than usual.

Dave sighed. "Just wait. You'll see."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Twenty minutes later, the agents took their seats in a rather dark venue at a very small table…with an old-fashioned, landline telephone in the center that lit up and flashed for attention within minutes.

Rossi's brows rose. "Lesson for the night, Aaron…answer the phone."


	10. Phone Virgin

The phone flashed in time to the throbbing of Hotch's sudden-onset tension headache.

This was not how he wanted to meet people.

Under Rossi's amused observation, the Unit Chief peered about the shadowed interior of the club. He hadn't noticed a name on the outside; just a flight of steps that led to the entrance below street level. It had what Hotch imagined to be the feeling of a prohibition speakeasy. A little clandestine. A little password-private. A _lot_ suspicious…but that might have been attributable to Dave. The older man was close-lipped about the place and couldn't disguise the mischievous glint in his eye.

But he'd been right about one thing: no one would notice if Hotch was over-dressed or not. The only illumination came from the soft lights behind the actual bar off to one side, and the glowing, neon-hued phones at each table. It was possible to see facial features of patrons nearby from the ambient phone-light, but the rest was cast in shadow.

"Answer the phone, Aaron."

"You."

"Nope. I already know what it's all about. You, on the other hand, are a phone-virgin. Answer it." Rossi leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms to show his determination. "Besides, if your goal is to go unnoticed, nothing could put you further from it than everyone seeing that thing flashing…and pulsing…and drawing attention…and…"

Hotch broke, grabbing the receiver from its cradle. "Hello!" His tone was quite a bit less than inviting. He hadn't been able to see anyone talking into a phone and looking his way. He was cautious by nature and felt a frisson of anxiety. _Hell of a way to attract unsubs. Accosting someone under a nice, safe cloak of anonymity?…That'll bring out the worst in a certain element…_

The party on the other end sounded impatient. "Finally! You know, there _are_ other customers, fella. Now…wha'd'ya want to drink?"

Hotch turned in his seat, eyes traveling to the bar and the man standing behind it looking straight at him, phone to ear.

"I…uh…" Rossi's chuckling was a distraction, but Aaron pulled himself together. "Scotch rocks?"

"For both of you?"

"Uh…yeah…yes, please."

"Okay." The bartender sounded a little more sympathetic after hearing the confusion in this new patron's words. "And if you don't want people calling you, flip the switch on the bottom. Drink's on their way." He hung up.

Hotch replaced the receiver and tried to lift the whole apparatus up, discovering it was bolted to the tabletop; a precaution against thieves. When he began to feel around the bottom of the phone, looking for a switch, Rossi's hand descended, grabbing his wrist.

"Leave it on, Aaron."

"This isn't a good way to meet people. How many cases have we worked where…"

"You're not going to actually meet anyone." Dave interrupted, cutting Hotch off before he could launch into a cautionary speech that the senior agent already knew very well.

"What?"

"House rules. No one is allowed to come over to anyone else's table. All this is, is a place to talk to people. If you want to set up a meeting based on your conversation, you both agree to approach the bar. Then the bartender does some preliminary ID checking. He's set up with online access to arrest records and police sites. You have to agree to the search. If you don't, you're out of here."

Hotch slid his wrist from the older man's loosened grip, as they both relaxed back into their seats. "There are a lot of ways that could still go wrong."

Rossi shrugged. "There are a lot of ways meeting _any_ one could go wrong. There is no foolproof way to do it, but you have to admit, this is a lot safer than your standard pickup."

"So the point of bringing me here is…"

"Is to give you the chance to get used to talking to strange women socially with no pressure for it to go any further." Dave's brows rose. "Unless, of course…"

"No. I'll admit I could use some practice." Hotch sighed. "I guess I never developed dating skills. I didn't need to. Hayley and I…we were…"

"I know, Aaron. I know. It's okay." Sympathy ran through Rossi's tone. "Believe it or not, I'm not going to push you. I just want to open your eyes to the possibility of someday bringing someone into your life. And Jack's."

A man with a tray of beverages passed by, leaving two tumblers of Scotch and a bowl of pretzels in his wake. A thoughtful silence fell while each man tasted his drink. Hotch's eyes were fixed on the middle-distance, his mind elsewhere. Rossi's focus was on his friend.

"Can I ask you something, Aaron?"

The Unit Chief jolted back from wherever he'd been. "Huh? Uh…yeah, sure. Of course you can."

"Besides Hayley, have you _ever_ pursued a woman?"

A slow head shake preceded the answer. "No. I guess that's a good thing, 'cause I'm not sure I'd be any good at it. Seems like the kind of behavior you learn early or not at all."

"Which is another reason why Jack needs to know his Dad's playing the game." Rossi smiled. "He'll incorporate it into his picture of proper adult behavior. Much better than thinking guys only get one shot and once it's over, so's their social life."

"I know. I already agreed to this whole thing for Jack's sake, remember?"

"Well, I want _you_ to find some happiness, too."

The phone pulsed a brighter shade of its basic electrical blue. Hotch froze, drink half raised.

A slow smile spread across Rossi's lips. "Maybe you don't need to develop hunting skills. The game comes to you. Answer the phone, Aaron."

With only the smallest of catches in his voice, Hotch did.


	11. Learning Curve

"Hel…hello?"

Hotch's rolling thunder baritone only stumbled a little. The voice that responded embodied a much more confident tone.

"Well, hello there, handsome. My friend thinks you're stunning…"

Aaron could hear muffled protestations in the background. The friend wasn't pleased about being outed as an admirer. Oddly, he found that soothing. It was good to know that other people were being pushed into the social arena by Rossi-esque comrades. The desperate background squeaks also triggered Hotch's instinct to help anyone in distress.

He craned his neck around, searching for the caller, but there were too many shadows, too many obstacles, too many people already on phones. "Are you sure you called the right table?" The term 'stunning' didn't feel as though it was a description he merited. It was too extravagant.

"Oh, yes. You're the one. She watched you and your friend walk in. I thought she'd fall out of her chair." The background sounds were trailing off into moans that managed to convey defeat as well as deep mortification.

Hotch licked suddenly dry lips. He wondered if he found this scenario unsettling because of his line of work and its proliferation of stalkers and subterfuge. "Where are you? Wave or something…"

The reluctant admirer launched into a hissing volley of threats. The Unit Chief caught snatches of 'don't you dare..' and 'I swear, if you do…' and one 'Marcie, nooooo…' Considering the rustling, muffled sounds of a struggle interspersed with the redoubtable Marcie's giggling, Hotch figured he'd be able to pinpoint the epicenter of this disturbance if he looked back along the path he and Rossi had taken from the doorway. After all, if he'd been noted coming in, then the caller couldn't be all that far from the entrance. As soon as he began to rise to his feet, however, Dave leaned over and pulled him down.

"Another rule, Aaron. You can find out what your caller looks like if you both get to the point where you agree to meet at the bar and undergo ID verification. Until then, it's a meeting of the minds only. Contact has nothing to do with appearance."

Hotch covered the receiver with one hand, lowering his voice for Rossi's ears alone. "Well I think it has _something_ to do with appearance! They watched us coming in."

He could hear the laughing scuffle settling down on the other end of the line. Part of him found the whole situation reminiscent of high school…maybe even _junior_ high. It was a little irritating. If he was going to talk to a woman, he wanted the conversation to be mature and indicative of mutual interests, hobbies, passions, opinions. He absolutely did _not_ want to be teased. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than…

Rossi rocked back in his chair, eyes crinkling with humor. "You are so much fun to tease. Adolescence must have been hell for you."

Hotch glared, but an appropriate rejoinder would have to wait. The voices on the line were moving past their girlish dithering. The one identified as Marcie had taken on a scolding tone addressing her companion.

"Well if you think he's cute, _do_ something about it! He can't see you and you don't have to meet. Just talk to him!"

Mumbling and grumbling accompanied the transfer of the receiver from hand to hand. Hotch found the initial ego-boost of being termed 'stunning' had begun to dissipate in the face of the muttered resistance to actually talking to him. But when the new voice came on the line, it sounded more mature and somewhat chagrined.

"I am _so_ sorry about that. My friend's had a little more to drink than usual and she got carried away. I'm really embarrassed and I…I apologize." It was a nice, musical voice now that it wasn't tight with anxiety.

"That's okay. I've never been here before, so I'm not sure how it's supposed to work. But I guess, from what _my_ friend said, we're not allowed to see each other." Hotch paused. "But you have. Seen me, I mean."

"Yeeeeaaahhh…" A sigh redolent with suffering signaled possible kinship in the my-friend-made-me-come-here department. "I was told we had to come early and get a seat where we could see the door. It's an unfair advantage, I know." The voice lifted, becoming more consoling. "If it makes you feel any better though, you really do look nice."

"Thank you." Hotch didn't know what else to say. He was unsure about crossing the line of anonymity. _Maybe names aren't allowed either._

"So my name's Julia."

 _Okay, so maybe names aren't taboo._ "I'm Aaron. The guy with me is Dave."

"He looked nice, too. My friend is Marcie."

Hotch had a sinking feeling this encounter would soon devolve into awkward silences…and they would be so much more uncomfortable when talking was the only link, devoid of facial expressions to bridge the pauses. He was thinking of finding a way to sign off, telling her it had been nice talking to her, when Julia spoke.

"Can I ask you something? And get a serious answer?"

Feeling Rossi's eyes on him, Hotch wondered how much of the conversation the older man could hear. Under Dave's gaze, he felt compelled to continue the discussion even though nerves quivered in his stomach. This sounded as though it might get personal. It felt intrusive. Strangers asking 'serious' questions were in direct opposition to the Unit Chief's fiercely guarded privacy. He used sipping his drink as a delaying tactic, hoping Julia would back down; maybe Marcie would get another fit of nervous giggles and she'd have to hang up before it went any further.

"Mr…uh…Aaron? Are you there?"

"Yes. Sorry. What would you like to know?"

A hesitation. An intake of breath. "Why are you here?"

"Uh…" Hotch looked at Rossi.

Dave could tell something had hit a snag. He leaned forward, mouthing 'What's up?'

Hotch shook his head. _What is wrong with me?! I'm acting like a twitchy adolescent. It's a simple question and I don't have to play any games here._ And when it came down to brass tacks, honesty was always his go-to response. Aaron gave himself permission to open up a little. After all, it hadn't hurt when he'd done it last time at Kelly's Irish bar.

"I'm here because my friend thinks it'll be good for me."

"Good for you?"

"Yes. To get out and socialize."

A few beats of silence fell during which Hotch had the feeling his words were being analyzed. Julia sounded unsure when she continued.

"I guess I'm surprised that a guy like you has to make an effort. Unless…have you been out of the country or…something?"

The agent heard the subtext. _Have you been in prison? Are you a convicted felon? Or maybe you've been in a coma?_ In a way, Hotch guessed he had been 'away.' Married and faithful, then heartbroken and solitary. The brief time with Beth had hardly been a ripple when all was said and done. And, again, Beth had been the one to approach him.

"I've…I've been…" _Oh, what the hell…you'll never even meet this person and she doesn't really know who you are…_ "I've been married for a long time. I'm not anymore. So, yes, I suppose you could say I've been out of the swing of things. Is that what you wanted to know?" There was a slight edge to Hotch's reply. There wasn't anything wrong with someone asking, but he found he resented it anyway. _And that's just me._

"Oh…I'm sorry. I…I didn't mean to pry. What I meant was, guys who _look_ like you usually have…" She cleared her throat. "…an _entourage_ of women following them around. That's all. Sorry."

Aaron sighed, head hanging. "No. I'm the one who's sorry. I'm not used to…I dunno…small talk and being witty with strangers. This is a different world than where I usually hide out."

"Well…I think your friend…Dan, was it?...I think he's on the right track. Someone like you shouldn't be hiding _any_ where." Her voice began to rush, the words tumbling together as though once she'd made up her mind to say them, she didn't want to chance losing her nerve. "I'm sorry for whatever you've been through that made you think you needed to be alone. But you really are stunning. And I just enjoyed looking at you, so…so you should be out where people _can_ look at you…There. I said it."

The connection ended. Hotch gave the receiver a bewildered look before setting it back in its cradle. He picked up his drink and glanced at Rossi. "Did you hear any of that?"

The older man grinned. "Most of it. I'd say right now there's a table somewhere back there with two women at it, and one's congratulating the other on finally getting up the courage to talk to men."

"I get it, Dave. There are other people out there like me."

"Mmmmm…not quite." Hotch's brows rose, questioning what lesson he was supposed to take away from this encounter.

"See, Aaron, she made the first move. So she's ahead of you on the learning curve." Rossi gave his friend a calculating look. "You have some catching up to do…But don't worry. I'll be the study-partner who won't let you fail."


	12. Art

What would forever after be Phone Night stuck with Hotch for a few days.

On the one hand, it was nice knowing that there were other people out there who fell into the same dork-at-dating category, and being told that he looked good brought a secretive, little smile to his lips when no one was around. But on the other hand, Rossi's comments about making advances and being the initiator of a meeting himself filled him with dread.

It wasn't overweening. It didn't cast a pall over his life. It was just an ugly nag that poked its head into his thoughts at odd moments. It faded over the intervening days, but roared back to the forefront when Dave knocked on his door one Saturday afternoon.

It was the first time he'd brought Project Socialize Hotch to the Unit Chief's home.

Aaron had dropped Jack off to join a group of friends earlier. They were spending the day honing their gaming skills at the mall arcade; an adult-supervised outing that Hotch was sure would be accompanied by forays to the Food Court with its pizza, burgers, and ice cream outlets.

It had never crossed his mind that the expedition had come to Rossi's attention. As soon as Hotch saw the glint in his friend's eye, he knew what was coming. Self-preservation made him try to throw up road blocks immediately.

"No, Dave. I'm not going out to some bar and being forced to choose some stranger to chat up just for practice. No."

The self-satisfied glow never left Rossi's grin. "Not even a 'Hi, Dave…how ya doin'?…' Wow. You look nervous, Aaron. Reminds me of trying to get Mudge in the car when he knows we're headed to the vet."

"I don't want to go. Bars aren't the place to meet the kind of women I…"

"I know. No more bars." The older man interrupted, but still saw the suspicion in Hotch's regard. "No more bars. Or taverns. Or clubs. But you _are_ coming with me, because…"

"…Because we have a deal. One I'm sorry I agreed to." The desperate Unit Chief took his opportunity and ran with it. "For all the times we've been out, how has it benefited Jack? That was the whole driving force behind this when we started. And don't say it was beneficial for him to know his Dad was out on the town, because this time he's not even here; he'll have no idea that…" Full stop. Hotch glare.

Rossi's grin achieved shark proportions. Lots of teeth.

"Dave, how did you know I'd be on my own today? _I_ didn't even know Jack's plans until I got home yesterday."

The grin achieved Cheshire cat proportions. Lots of smug.

"Aaron, my boy, I doubt you will ever be able to master the techniques that come so naturally to me."

"You had this planned. You already knew… But I _still_ don't want to go to any kind of pick-up joint. I…"

"We're not going anyplace that serves hard liquor." Rossi tilted his head back and forth in a temporizing gesture, one brow rising in consideration. " _Maybe_ there'll be wine nearby, but the main focus of patrons will be non-alcoholic." A shadow of concern passed over the Unit Chief's features.

Dave took pity on him. "Aaron, we're going to the opening of an art exhibit in the new wing of the Magnus Gallery." Hotch blinked at the unexpected destination. Rossi took his arm. "And you're dressed just fine for a late afternoon/early evening art soiree. Let's go."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was a little-known fact in the BAU that Hotch appreciated a number of esthetic pursuits.

Everyone was aware of Rossi's predilection for the finer things in life, made possible by his financial success, but his focus tended to be on gourmet items that could be bought. Fine foods and wines. First edition books. Original artwork. A sleek automobile. A mansion.

For Hotch it was experience rather than ownership that lit a little candle deep inside him that rarely got the chance to glow.

He loved museums, and theatre, and ballet, and opera…and art galleries.

Part of his enjoyment was something he had never revealed to anyone. Not even Dave. Hotch saw so much of the worst humankind had to offer in his job, that he hungered for reminders of grace. He hardly ever had time, but he could lose himself in what he considered the sublime possibilities of the human soul. The same all-inclusive, generic human soul that murdered and raped, but a different aspect of it. One that created rather than destroyed.

He would stand before a masterpiece and feel something welling up in his heart. _Mankind isn't just monsters. Mankind has angels, too._ And sometimes when he felt despair, after he'd had his private cry in the jet's lavatory and had resumed his seat, he'd soothe himself by building a picture in his mind. Sometimes it was Jack; every detail of him, each hair, his scent, the feel of hugging him. But sometimes Hotch didn't want to bring his son, even in thought, into the ugliness of his work.

So he would build a recollection of something beautiful, something from the flip side of the coin of what man was capable.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Rossi watched his best friend lose himself in art.

The tilt of Hotch's head; the contemplative, peaceful look in his eyes; the way tension left his shoulders, letting him stand taller. It was gratifying enough that Dave almost forgot why he'd brought the younger man here.

Like-minded females.

Not hungry for hook-ups, but possessed of the same desire to feast their eyes on beauty. He was sure Hotch would be amenable to striking up a conversation with a woman who shared something so much more important than a liking for alcohol. He was betting the Unit Chief would do so naturally, without even realizing he was following Rossi's plan.

He only hoped Aaron wouldn't drift so far into his own thoughts that he became oblivious to his surroundings. Dave was banking on Hotch's agent's instincts to keep him aware of people within his personal space no matter how enthralled he might become.

It took a while, but having progressed midway through the gallery, a woman in a summery dress and sandals ended up standing beside Aaron, both gazing with soft eyes at an intricate, abstract oil.

Neither spoke. Neither noticed the other

Rossi fidgeted. In minutes they would move on; not necessarily in the same direction.

He was never ashamed of what he did next.

With a perfectly authentic-seeming stumble, he pushed Hotch into the lady.

Then, flinging muttered apologies behind him, Rossi fled.


	13. Surprises

"What the…?!" Hotch felt himself thrown off balance, fetching up against something fluttery and flowery and sweet-smelling.

He righted himself, stepping back to see if he'd done any serious damage to the doe-eyed creature who was as shocked as he at Rossi's maneuver. "Are you alright? Did I hurt you?"

"No. I'm…I'm fine, but…" her eyes traveled to where Dave's unidentifiable back was disappearing around a corner. "…did he get your wallet? Check!" Her lip curled in distaste. "Standard pickpocket move. And not a guard in sight…"

Hotch pressed his lips together. He wasn't sure if he was angry at the effrontery of Rossi's actions, or amused at the concept of his moneyed friend being taken for a petty thief. In the meantime, the woman was repeating her earnest warning.

"Seriously! They make it look like an accident and next thing you know they've got your wallet and then! Then they steal your ID! And if they're totally…"

"No…no…really, no…" Aaron interrupted, hoping to allay this stranger's concerns. "I know him. He's not a pickpocket. He's…We work together." He could see something flit through her eyes… _Pretty eyes…_ that might have been confusion or suspicion. He could just imagine her itching to check for her own wallet now that she knew the kind of company he kept. And the term 'work together' didn't exclude the possibility of her having encountered a professional duo of small-time crooks.

"Please let me explain?" She'd been edging away, but stopped, giving him a considering look.

"Alright. I'm listening." _He has interesting eyes…_

XXXXXXXXXXXX

She only hesitated a little when Hotch suggested they go to the museum café for coffee.

Profiling senses on alert, he could almost hear her internal dialogue. 'It's a public place…There are lots of people around…And it'll give me a chance to check that everything's still in my purse…'

He indulged her wariness. Considering things he'd seen on the job, he even applauded it. As they began walking toward the staircase to reach the café level, Hotch caught a glimpse of Rossi. It was only for a moment. Only a quick sighting before the man dodged around a corner. But it was enough to leave the impression of a devilish grin and chortling.

The Unit Chief thinned his lips in disapproval and vowed to avenge himself someday, some way…and soon.

Having selected a table, Hotch asked the woman what she'd like from the beverage counter.

"Oh…no… I can get my own."

He knew it was because she wanted to rifle through her purse. But she'd realize in a moment that she could do that while he was busy procuring drinks. "I insist. Please. My friend pushed me and I almost knocked you down. I'd feel better if you'd let me get you something." He saw the shift in her thoughts written in her eyes.

"Well…thank you, Mr.…?"

"Aaron. Aaron Hotchner."

"Thank you, Aaron Hotchner. I'm…" She was debating giving her real name. She settled on giving just her first. For now, anyway. "…I'm Maureen."

"Pleased to meet you, Maureen." He decided not to ask for anything more. She'd tell him when she was ready. "Now, what's your pleasure? To drink." He made the hasty qualification because he felt it would be too easy to push this stranger to a place where she'd decide she'd taken up with some lowlife lothario. Hotch's proper, Southern breeding had a keen awareness of the double entendre that could be associated with words like 'pleasure.'

"Iced tea would be nice."

"Sounds good. I'll be right back." Aaron turned away and took his time purchasing their refreshments. He caught movement in his peripheral vision, but wouldn't give Rossi the satisfaction of looking up. _I don't care if you're my ride, Dave. You can leave and I'll find my own way home. And why would you think this Maureen person is someone I'd want to hang out with? You_ _ **pushed**_ _me on a total stranger!_

When Hotch returned to their table, he realized Rossi had taken one a few yards away, smug smile and all. He was grateful the older man wasn't in Maureen's field of vision, having seated himself at a table behind her. He was relieved she looked much more at ease. _She must've checked her purse and found everything in order._ He set a tall, frosty glass garnished with a lemon slice before her. "Here you go, and, again, I apologize for my clumsiness."

He finally got a chance to see her genuine smile, and her features unmarred by alarm or suspicion. He felt his own lips lifting in response. _She's pretty in a non-frivolous way…in an_ _ **intelligent**_ _way…_

"I don't think it was your fault. But why did your friend do that? He ran off like…well…a thief. It was very strange."

Hotch bought some time by sipping his tea, eyes straying to where Rossi was probably doing his best to eavesdrop. And _that_ was what decided the Unit Chief on foregoing any embellished excuses in favor of the plain, unvarnished truth. Especially when the truth would shed some much-deserved bad light on crafty David Rossi.

"My friend thinks shoving someone into strangers is an appropriate way to meet them." Hotch shook his head. "He's a veteran of no less than three failed marriages, but he doesn't seem to have learned to finesse his social skills." He sighed. "It's the best he can come up with. Again, I apologize on his behalf." Aaron could see Rossi's eyes going a bit wild, overhearing this assessment that besmirched his romantic prowess; a skill highly valued by Italian men in particular.

"Well, no harm done, but it was a little odd." Maureen tasted her drink, surveying the man across from her from beneath her lashes. "You said you worked together. What kind of work?"

Hotch paused for a beat. This encounter felt like a delicate dance; like wooing a woodland creature. He blamed part of that on Dave's abrupt means of introduction. Something about saying you worked for the FBI was likewise too abrupt, and it had scary, violent connotations for some people. So he went with the alternative.

"I work for the Justice Department." The alarmed look he'd been hoping to avoid widened Maureen's eyes.

"No kidding? So do I."

A short distance away, Rossi's shoulders shook with laughter. _So far, so good._


	14. Souls Collide

"You…you're…you work for…?" Hotch stammered his surprise.

"The Justice Department." Maureen's smile grew at this unexpected turn of events.

Aaron watched the last vestiges of doubt drain away; her expression brightening. He was dimly aware of Rossi struggling to muffle his merriment a couple of tables over. Shoulders shaking, muscles contracted in laughter that forced him to bend slightly forward as he rose and made his final exit, leaving Hotch to fend for himself.

Maureen's large, brown eyes widened. "Aaron Hotchner! Of course! You're the Unit Chief of the BAU!"

The respectful expression that supplanted her previous suspicion made Hotch's chest swell a little. He was used to defending himself when it came to his work…Haley had resented his position mightily, and, although Beth hadn't, neither had she awarded him any points for a time-consuming, soul-denting, selfless career.

He found he liked the appreciative look with which Maureen now surveyed him. He also had a lot of questions. "I've never seen you around, but it's a big organization. Where…?"

"I'm with the Art Crime Team." At last her smile was wide, and unguarded, and a little proud, too.

Hotch was intrigued. The FBI had established its rapid-deployment Art Crime Team in 2004. The team was coordinated through the FBI's Art Theft Program headquartered on Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, D.C., although their operatives worked out of several different locations. The agents were as selectively chosen and as specially trained in art and cultural property investigations, as the BAU crew were in serial killers and psychology. The ACT assisted investigations worldwide, cooperating with foreign law enforcement officials and FBI legal attaché offices. The Justice Department also provided the team with special trial attorneys trained in cultural property crime.

Hotch wasn't sure of the figures, but he'd heard that the ACT had recovered items worldwide that were valued at over $150 million.

The BAU rarely crossed paths with the ACT, but each was aware of the other as a possible resource should the need ever arise. It just never had.

And now Hotch was kind of sorry about that.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Maureen 'Corrie' Corrigan, and the Unit Chief of the BAU spent the next few hours regaling each other with cases and concerns. Sprinkled in among the shop-talk were bits of personal information, too.

It was telling that both tended to back away from talking about themselves much. Both also discovered how pleasant it was to talk with someone knowledgeable about Bureau politics and machinations, yet who also understood the peculiar attraction of enduring the bad because the good so, so, so outweighed it. In short, Hotch and Corrie loved their jobs to distraction. It was fun to talk to someone of similar sentiment.

It wasn't until Aaron's phone chimed at him, demanding attention, that he realized the museum and gallery were nearly deserted and closing time was only minutes away. He glanced at the caller ID, sighed, and then accessed the text that Rossi had sent.

'having fun? knew you would. need a ride home, or…?'

Even in a voiceless, expressionless mode of communication, Dave managed to achieve a lascivious tone. Hotch shook his head and, excusing himself for a minute from Maureen, replied.

'Was this a setup? Or an accident?'

Rossi's return was immediate. 'what do you think?'

Hotch deliberated. His eyes strayed to his new friend. 'I think I'll talk to you later.'

Aaron closed his cell and slipped it into his pocket, turning back to face Maureen. "Sorry about that."

" 'S okay. Goes with our territory, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I wish it didn't."

"Me, too. But as we've been saying all evening…the territory's addictive. I wouldn't change it for the world. Well…" She was quick to temporize. "…that is…it'd be great if there _were_ no crime, but…"

"But as long as there is, we're lucky to be with the Bureau."

"Exactly." Maureen leaned back in her chair and sighed. "You know, I won't ask who your friend was who pushed you, but I'm glad he did." She raised the last dregs of her second iced tea. "Here's to jerky friends."

Hotch followed suit, toasting Rossi, but adding his own addendum. "And to new ones."

"I'll drink to that."

And they did.

XXXXXXXXXXX

They ended the evening with Maureen dropping Hotch off at his apartment building.

Ordinarily, she would have felt that frisson of awkwardness, wondering if this man she'd known for only a few hours…and really knew more by reputation than acquaintance…would try for something like a goodnight kiss. It hadn't been a date, but she'd had first dates that were light years worse, so in a way, it occupied the 'first date' slot in her mind.

But when she pulled up to the curb, she found she wasn't nervous at all. _He's trustworthy. That's the difference._ Having decided so, she found the thought of a kiss was a pleasant expectation, but one for the future, she hoped.

Gentleman Hotch didn't disappoint. He exited the car, leaning in to say 'goodnight' from the outside through the open window. "I enjoyed this. It's nice to meet someone who could be my art exhibit buddy." He ducked his head, the perennially shy guy. "Do you think you'd like to do this again?" _Please say 'yes.'…_

The beaming white of her smile told him her answer even before her words. "I'd like to. I'd like to very much." Her brows rose in sudden delighted realization. "Hey! We can run into each other at work now that we each know the other's there."

Hotch grinned. "Can we make tentative plans for lunch one day next week?"

"Sure. Wherever and whenever we can fit it in, okay?"

"Okay. See you next week." _More than okay. Something to look forward to._

XXXXXXXXXXX

By the time he'd checked on Jack and laid his head down on his own pillow, Hotch had replayed the evening a dozen times in his mind…and decided he'd go easy on Rossi for pushing him.

For the first time in a long time, he was smiling as his eyes drifted shut.


	15. Morning After

Hotch awoke the morning after having met Maureen feeling…different.

He lay on his back, eyes closed, and tried to qualify the sensation. There was usually a tense knot in the center of his chest soon after rejoining the waking world, as though all the responsibilities and concerns of his job and of being a single father gathered together in that one spot to confer about who would hold pride of place in their host's consciousness that day. This morning, however, he drew in a deep breath and smiled. The tension had loosened its grip. It was still there. One tier of his mind was still running lists of things to do and things to be wary of and things to prevent, if possible. But… _I feel good. Lighter._

The realization that it was Sunday and, unless an urgent case hit the fan, he'd have the whole day to luxuriate in his son's company coaxed his lips past the tentative stage and into a full-scale smile. Rare for him.

Hotch glanced at the bedside clock. Jack wouldn't be up for about half an hour. _Time enough to make pancakes. And maybe wake Rossi up if he's planning on sleeping in this morning._

Feeling hungry and happy and a little bit wicked, the Unit Chief of the BAU bounced out of bed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rossi groaned when his phone jolted him awake.

He'd been so pleased with the meeting between Agent Corrigan and Hotch that he'd celebrated in his own smug, quiet way by opening a bottle of wine from his private cellar. It had proved a heady vintage.

He opened one eye and bleared at the contraption on his nightstand clamoring for attention. A deeply ingrained sense of duty forced him to answer with a hoarse cough as prelude.

"Rossi here…"

"Good morning, Dave!" The sing-song cadence of Hotch's greeting was an instant annoyance. The older man was sure that was the Unit Chief's intention.

"You know wha' time it is, Aaron?"

"Yes. _And_ I know what day, too. It's a beeeoootiful Sunday morning!"

Definitely uncharacteristic of Hotch, which strengthened Rossi's conviction that his friend was exacting a small revenge. Dave opted for silence, thinking if he didn't play, the pest would go away.

Wrong.

"I know you're probably up and have all kinds of plans for the day, so I won't keep you any longer than I have to."

 _Uh-oh…_ Rossi detected a threatening undercurrent. _Little weasel isn't going to get off the line until he gets what he wants. And he's not exactly forthcoming. Wants me to figure it out. Correction: wants to taunt me while I figure it out._ "What do you want, Aaron?"

"Nothing. Why would I want anything?"

 _Oh, no. He's switched into 'answer a question with a question' mode._ Dave felt his inner-gangsta rising to the challenge. "Aaron. You're my friend. I love you. But by all I and my ancestors hold holy, if you don't have a reason for calling other than to irritate me, I and operatives of my lineage will hurt you."

Rossi felt a gratifying thrill of satisfaction at the pause on the other end of the line. _He knows it's an empty threat, but he also knows he better not push me any further._

"I just want to know one thing."

The older man sighed. _Oh, little weasel, you are so easy to read._ "Yes. The answer is yes."

Another hesitation. Rossi liked this one. His sleep was ruined; he was warming to the idea of turning the tables on his poor, challenged friend; so wanting when it came to games of pranking and manipulation. _Sure, when he puts his mind to it, he can pull off some pretty good stunts. But they don't come easy. He has to work at them. Doesn't have any native sedition in his genes…_

"I didn't ask anything. 'Yes' to what?"

"Yes, I've been pulling your strings and directing your life to the destination of my choice. And if you don't get off the line and leave me alone, I'll do it again…only next time I won't lead you to a pretty place. Now say 'goodbye,' Aaron."

"But…"

"'But' nothing… We'll talk tomorrow. _Goodbye_ , Aaron."

"Buh…."

Rossi closed the connection before the syllable could resolve itself into either another 'but,' or an obedient 'bye.' Whatever it was, it had sounded grudging. Rossi smiled as he snuggled back down into his pillow.

Next week would be very interesting at the Bureau. Especially if neither the BAU team nor the ACT agents were sent into the field.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Maureen spent Sunday going over files in the room of her apartment that caught the overflow from her job.

There were always open cases; works of art and precious relics of cultural significance that had gone missing. At the moment, she was studying one of the semi-annual posters released by Interpol of objects that topped their 'most wanted' list.

Hotch's 'most wanted' was an array of faces. Corrie's was a lineup of extraordinary objects.

There wasn't a current theft that required the FBI's investigation of the crime scene at the moment, which meant that _all_ unsolved thefts and disappearances were the ACT agents' business. Corrie's eye was drawn repeatedly to the ancient golden icon on the June 2015 poster. It had been removed from a church in Moscow, leaving no trace of evidence as to its fate.

She sighed her appreciation of the beautiful example of early religious art. It was classic. The metallurgy that formed the folds of cloth of a Madonna supporting a disturbingly mature-faced baby Jesus was in powerful contrast to the elegance and beauty of the facial features themselves. _I wonder if someone posed for the artist…_

Aquiline noses. Sculpted jaws and cheekbones. Beautiful eyes. And over all, a gentle sadness that bestowed a graceful nobility to both mother and child.

For some reason, it made her think of the Unit Chief of the BAU.

She shook herself. _Concentrate, Maureen. If you can't separate leisure from work, you're going to be in_ _ **big**_ _trouble…_ But her eyes kept straying to those lovely faces…


	16. Ruse

By Monday morning Hotch was more himself; a little stressed, a little anxious, focused to a fault. Scowl predominant.

He accomplished his fatherly duties and, once Jack was off on his own, the Unit Chief's mind was filled with work concerns. Only a small corner was reserved for other business: his new friend in the ACT and his old friend who'd been working a secret, manipulative agenda for months now.

 _Unless Dave's playing games and taking credit for sheer coincidence. But…no…He knew who he was pushing me into. The question is, has he been pulling Maureen's strings all this time, too? Or are they in it together?_ But he thought of her smile and her genuine enjoyment… _No. Dave's working alone._

Hotch had hoped to confront Rossi face to face early in the day, but when he arrived at the BAU, the older man was nowhere to be seen. As the team filtered in, taking their places at their respective desks and delving into the stacks of files earmarked for consultations, Aaron experienced a frisson of worry. It wasn't like Dave to be this late.

Just as he was about to call the man, Hotch saw Rossi saunter in, lips pressed together in a smug, I'm-trying-not-to-laugh-at-you line. And he was in far, far too good a mood; scattering greetings and _bon mots_ in his journey through the bullpen; ruffling Reid's hair in passing; winking at Kate; saluting Morgan; prancing up the steps to his office level; breaking into a gloating grin as he brushed past his boss.

"Dave. My office. Now." The Unit Chief noted the self-satisfied, superior arch of the older man's brow and added… "Please."

Chuckling to himself in a most annoying way, Rossi obliged, stepping around Aaron and taking a seat on the small couch where Hotch sometimes grabbed a few hours' sleep when going home wasn't an option. Dave executed a luxurious stretch, eyes never leaving those of his friend…lips never losing their mirthful tilt. "Something to say to me, Aaron?"

Hotch closed the door to his office, assuring privacy. He stalked to his desk, pulling the cloak of officialdom around himself as best he could in light of Rossi's supercilious attitude. He took time before responding. Time to take a seat in his throne of command. Time to glower at his friend from beneath dark brows. Time to wonder why he felt subservient when he was the one with all the trappings of dignified authority. He leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands before him on the desktop.

"How long had you been planning this, Dave?"

Wrong approach. Rossi was in the mood for fun. "Puh-lanning? Puh- _lanning_?! I stumbled over my own feet in the presence of a lovely lady. I was so mortified, I had to make a hasty exit..." He drew in a deep, injustice-laden breath. "I would think you'd be grateful. If I had stayed, she would most likely have chosen to spend the evening with me…"

Hotch foresaw a long, long workweek of ongoing banter. He thought he might have a card to play that would find its way past Rossi's irritatingly playful façade. "Look, Dave. If you want me to take this 'introduction' seriously, you're going to have to play it straight with me." He emitted a sorrowful sigh, eyes going mournful. "'Cause if I don't know where I stand from the start…if this is a joke you and Agent Corrigan cooked up between you…" He bit his lip and thought of sad things; there was no shortage to choose from in his past.

Rossi's ears pricked forward. It was possible that this was a ruse, but…it was a look he'd seen too often on the younger man's face. And on Mudgie's, too. Big eyes. Damp eyes. Slack lips…no smile in them. _He's not that good an actor…_ _ **is**_ _he?_ It was too close to call.

If Hotch wasn't the best at faking people out, he was a darn good profiler who'd read his target and hit it dead center. He didn't have to put on a convincing act. He only had to hint at something his closest friend would do anything to avoid ever seeing again.

Aaron's bottom lip trembled.

Rossi was off the couch and to the Unit Chief's side in seconds. He placed himself where he'd block the view from the bullpen. Gentle hands took Hotch's shoulders, massaging and caressing a message of comfort and repentance. "I'm sorry, Aaron. It's okay. Look, I'll tell you everything, but the main thing you need to know is that Agent Corrigan had no idea. I heard some talk…you know…how guys do?" _No, you probably don't. You don't lower yourself to that level. More's the pity._ "…and she was too smart, too cultured for most people. First thing I thought was 'that's a girl for Hotch.' So I made it happen." _Just please stop looking the way you did when Jack and Haley were taken from you and put into protective custody…the way you looked after Foyet murdered the woman you loved…Please stop._

Aaron kept his head down, eyes averted. Every now and then he'd let a small tremor quiver its way through him. Every time he did, Rossi's hands would strengthen their hold.

"All I did was try to open your mind to the possibility of a relationship, Aaron. And when I heard someone say that Corrigan was going to spend her Saturday at that gallery…and it was said with an air of amazed contempt, as though anyone who'd do that would have to be abnormal…I took advantage of the opportunity." He ducked his head. "…And you, okay? I took advantage of you. But you enjoyed yourself, didn't you? Huh? Didn't you?"

Rossi rubbed his palm across the bent shoulders of a man he couldn't stand to see endure any more emotional pain that had already been allotted him. After a moment, his hand stilled. His brows furrowed.

The shoulders were shaking, but not with grief or betrayal or any of the hundred other things from which Dave had taken a private oath to protect Aaron.

Hotch was chuckling. And doing his damnedest to cover it up. And failing.

Rossi's hand descended one more time, cuffing the back of the Unit Chief's head.

"You're a stinking, little weasel, Aaron Hotchner. And I don't know why I bother giving you women who are far too exceptional to be weasel-fodder."

But deep inside, Dave knew the answer to that, too.


	17. Treasure Found

Meanwhile, the woman Rossi had claimed was a cut above 'weasel-fodder' was poring over an array of cold cases, although nothing was ever truly 'cold' in the ACT.

Even if the statute of limitations passed, the effort to return items of cultural significance to their rightful owners continued.

Maureen's eyes traveled from sculpture to painting to jewel to book. All were rare, irreplaceable examples of their respective arts. An appreciative sigh stretched her Bureau-appropriate suit jacket.

 _If I hadn't become a hunter of these lost treasures, I probably would've become one of the thieves._ A wry smile quirked her lips. _Well…maybe not. But I can understand the attraction to owning such beauty. Imagine having it on hand so you could enjoy it at your leisure whenever the mood took you..._

A stray wisp of imagery that had a strong resemblance to Aaron Hotchner, the BAU Unit Chief with the dark eyes, darker hair and shyly sweet spirit, coalesced in her mind.

She sighed again, and then hardened her thoughts, directing them away from musing about privileged ownership. Most of the crimes weren't so esthetically inclined. Most of them were perpetrated by criminals who didn't see the loveliness of what they were stealing. All they saw were dollar signs. _Or whatever denomination is offered by the highest bidder._

She glanced at the brass clock on her desk; a reproduction of an antique that lived in the Hermitage Museum. _That's the closest I'll ever get to owning a masterpiece._ Another vagrant wisp of Aaron intruded; his scent, reminiscent of a sun-warmed forest. Another sigh. _Stop it. We agreed to try to have lunch. That's all. And you don't really know him._ Her smile took on an edge of wickedness. _But he_ _ **is**_ _fun to daydream about…_ Her grin faded and she shook her head at her own folly.

 _But I_ _ **am**_ _a hunter of rare things, after all…_

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

They played it close to the vest at first, which was easy because Hotch didn't realize he was the object of a treasure hunt. He would have blinked in astonishment if anyone had told him they considered him so.

Agent Corrigan was an expert at recognizing and capturing extraordinary masterpieces. What made this one special was that he wanted to be found. He just didn't know it yet. And she didn't want to do anything that would cause him to shy away or feel uncomfortable. It was hard to know what might trigger such reactions. She sensed depths in him that were important, but to which she had no right. Not yet.

The answer was to go slow and be genuine. Which was exactly what she wanted anyway.

Anything less would have made the pursuit distasteful. She'd had enough of games.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Wednesday came without a field case in sight.

On the one hand, Hotch was glad there was nothing so horrific taking place it warranted the intervention of the FBI. On the other, he was heartily bored of phone calls and paperwork and politics.

He'd been casting an idle thought in Maureen's direction every now and then. They'd traded texts, but both were prone to losing themselves in their work. The lunch date seemed doomed to be pushed to the side for the foreseeable future.

Hotch was deep in a stack of consults, deciding which team member's specialty would make him or her the best to take point on each when a sharp rapping on his door jamb made him look up. Rossi stood in the entrance, features set in a grim expression.

The Unit Chief's inner alarms began to sound. "What's wrong?"

Dave's lips compressed for a moment. "Something you need to see. Come with me." It wasn't a request, putting Hotch even more on alert.

"What is it?" He rose and maneuvered his way out from behind his desk.

"Just come."

Eyes followed the pair as Rossi adopted a determined stride along the catwalk, headed for the elevators, Hotch half a step behind, but keeping pace. Once they were out of earshot of the BAU, the younger man spoke up.

"I think you better tell me what's going on, Dave."

"Some things you gotta see for yourself," Rossi muttered as the elevator doors whooshed open on the fourth floor. Stepping out of the car, he made an abrupt left, picking up speed as the tiled corridor stretched before them.

While Hotch was mulling over the possibilities of their destination, Rossi took his arm. Aaron thought it was to pull him closer to ensure confidentiality of a whispered briefing, whatever he needed to know before some budgetary or administrative confrontation loomed.

Turned out the grip was for control.

As they came abreast of a partially open door, Hotch barely had time to register the subdued plaque adorning the plain oak exterior.

'Federal Bureau of Investigation Art Theft Program, Art Crime Team, Quantico Division'

"Dave?!"

"Too late." Rossi shoved his friend through the portal, closing the door behind him with a decisive click.

And then keeping a tight hold on the knob for 30 seconds to be sure there was no escape attempt.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Lost in the annals of a Renoir oil purloined from a private residence in Houston, Texas, during an armed robbery, and valued at the tidy sum of 3 million dollars, Agent Corrigan was a little miffed at having her concentration disrupted.

Until she looked up and saw the cause of the disturbance at the entry to her department.

"Aaron!" The faint, preoccupied frown she'd had, transformed into a radiant grin. "I've been thinking one of us should just _do_ it. Just get up and go see if the other can be pried away from their desk."

Hotch blinked at her, realizing this was the first time he was seeing Maureen as an agent. She wasn't the pretty woman in the flowery frock in whose company he'd spent such a delightful evening. In a way, this was even better. She wore a dark, trim suit…jacket and skirt…with her hair caught up and kept out of the way by an antique-looking tortoiseshell clip embellished with seed pearls. Compared to her off-duty garb, this was more relatable, yet still oddly elegant.

This was the look of someone who lived in the Unit Chief's world…the one that claimed the lion's share of his energy and interest. An unaccustomed thrill of hope fluttered in Hotch's chest. This was a member of his tribe. He realized she was talking and he was missing the gist of it…

"…that little café around the corner?"

 _She must be talking about grabbing a bite._ He was about to take a chance and respond when something made him pause. _No. No guessing. No games. Not going to start whatever this relationship might turn into with any of that._ She was waiting. Hotch took a deep breath, lifted his chin, and braced himself for the consequences of honesty.

"I'm sorry; I didn't catch that."

A line appeared between her brows. "Are you okay, Aaron?"

He nodded. "Yes. It's just…" He took another preparatory breath. "…I didn't pry myself away from my desk. David Rossi did. He's the one who pushed me into you at the gallery. And he brought me here and pushed me through the door. And I'm glad he did, but I wanted you to know." He looked down, giving a half-hearted shrug, mumbling the rest. "Just seems important. Not sure why…"

He missed the return of her growing grin. "I understand. Have you got time for something to eat?"

Hotch met her eyes and felt his own smile appear. "I do. Let's do it."

Maureen, looking every inch Agent Corrigan, and Aaron, looking every inch Agent Hotchner, went to lunch…

…and a great many other places in the months that followed.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The next day a bouquet of flowers appeared at Rossi's mansion with a simple, unsigned card… 'Thank You'

They weren't from Hotch.

~ The End ~


End file.
